Undecided(77)

“Hey, Nora,” he says.

“Hi, Dane. Is he here?”

“Yeah. Go on up.”

“Thanks.” The welcome mat is predictably absent, so I wipe my feet as best I can before hurrying up the stairs, trying to calm myself. I will be rational. I will be patient. And if he didn’t cheat on me with three girls last week, I will be totally fine. Because if he did…

Then I don’t understand.

All the doors on the upper level are closed, and when I try Crosbie’s it’s locked. I can hear the familiar thud-whir of the elliptical and I knock hard enough for him to hear me even if he’s got earbuds in. After a second the thud-whir stops and he pulls open the door, looking surprised to see me. He’s wearing an old T-shirt that’s wet with perspiration, green basketball shorts, and nothing on his feet. His hair sticks out helplessly, as though he’d run his fingers through it before answering.

Like an idiot, I feel my eyes start to sting with the threat of tears, and for a second I stare at him, too many thoughts rattling around my brain for just one to come out. Finally I cut to the chase. “Why?”

He wipes his mouth with the back of his arm. “Why what?”

“Why…” I step into his room when he shifts back and gestures for me to enter. I shut the door and take a breath. “Why did—Why is—” I look around frantically, for words or proof or something I don’t have a name for. “There are three new names on your list,” I say, struggling to keep my voice level. It comes out cold, but that’s better than shrill and desperate. “And they’re all from last week. When you went on that trip.”

It takes him a full ten seconds, then finally his expression turns from confusion to shock. “Are you talking about the Student Union bathroom?”

“Of course I am.”

“And my list has been updated?”

“Yes.”

“Whose name is on it? Yours?”

“No, Crosbie, not mine. Girls I don’t know. Three of them.”

He raises an eyebrow. “What are you asking me?”

“I’m asking why.”

He finishes the water and casually sets the bottle on the desk behind him. “Why the list got updated? I don’t know. I told you I don’t sneak up there with a marker and add names to it.”

“Then who did?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why would they?”

“I don’t know that either.”

“Is it…accurate?” I swipe my hand across my eyes, refusing to let any tears fall.

His cheeks are flushed now, and it has nothing to do with the interrupted exercise. He’s gripping the edge of the desk so tightly his knuckles are white, refusing to show his anger. “Are you honestly asking me if I banged three girls on the road trip? No, Nora, I didn’t. I was busy, and I thought I had a girlfriend.”

I shake my head. He’s got the window propped open with a textbook, but it’s still too hot in here. My skin is prickling and I feel like I’m smothering. Like my only goal for this year—don’t f*ck up—has just backfired in spectacularly painful fashion.

“Tell me the truth.”

“That is the truth.”

He holds my stare but it’s hard for me to return, so my gaze flickers around the room. The elliptical machine, a calendar with sports statistics for each month, the neatly organized desk, the eternally unmade bed. And the man in the middle of it all, who last year seemed so untouchable, but is just a guy. Flawed and functional like the rest of us.

He sighs and flexes his fingers. “I don’t know how to prove it, Nora. You heard what Kellan said that night—I’ve wanted you since the first day I saw you. I wouldn’t f*ck this up when I finally got it.”

“What about…” I feel so stupid. Stupid if I’m wrong, stupid if I’m right. “What about when I freaked out that night about Kellan’s list?”

He shrugs. “So what?”

“So maybe you reconsidered this.”

“Because a girl got upset about her roommate’s sex list, where the girls on it have names like Purple Hair and Smells Like French Fries? No, I get it. I get where Kellan’s coming from, too. Sometimes you mess around and it doesn’t mean anything more than an hour or two, then you forget all about it. And sometimes…” He steps closer, though not close enough to touch. “Sometimes you mess around and you can’t stop thinking about it. And then you’re not messing around at all.” He catches my chin between his fingers and makes me look at him. “We’re not just messing around, Nora. At least I’m not. And I’m not sleeping around. From the day I saw you until now, there hasn’t been anybody else. I can’t say it any better.”

I suppose he doesn’t have to say it at all. He could just open the door and usher me out with a swat on the ass and a “Thanks for the memories.” But he’s not. He’s not flipping out about me showing up and accusing him, he’s not protesting too much and sealing his fate, he’s not doing anything other than being the guy I’ve gotten to know these past months. He’s real. And he’s trying.

“I’m sorry,” I mumble miserably. “I just…”

He waits, but when I don’t finish he asks, “Why were you up there, anyway? What were you looking for?”